


give up the ghost (and choose me instead)

by Maeve_of_Winter



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Confessions, Give Kent the good boyfriend he deserves, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Kent "Parse" Parson/Jack Zimmermann, Protectiveness, Summer Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 08:53:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26849221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maeve_of_Winter/pseuds/Maeve_of_Winter
Summary: Sometimes Jeff worried that he might be Jack Zimmermann 2.0 as far as Kent was concerned. There were enough surface level similarities to bother him: they were both buff, dark-haired hockey dudes with a passion for history and a passion for Kent.But to convince himself they were still different, Jeff had developed a behavior model:What would Jack Zimmermann do?And whatever the answer was, Jeff did the opposite where Kent was concerned.Or, Kent and Jeff take a vacation together, and Kent finally reveals some truths to Jeff about his relationship with Jack.
Relationships: Kent "Parse" Parson/Jeff "Swoops" Troy
Comments: 13
Kudos: 120
Collections: The Parse Posi Posse's Place phor Phics





	give up the ghost (and choose me instead)

**Author's Note:**

> A big thanks to Cat and FallingfromtheTrapeze for helping me out and betaing this fic!
> 
> Inspiration for Kent's interests in hermit crabs comes from FallingfromtheTrapeze. Thanks so much for letting me borrow it! [You can find their post about it here.](https://fallingfromthetrapeze.tumblr.com/post/621300193367818240/so-my-brilliant-friend-maeve-of-winter-said-i)
> 
> Thanks to everyone reading! If you ever want to chat, here's my [Tumblr](http://maeve-of-winter.tumblr.com/). I love discussion and hearing people's thoughts, so feel free to submit headcanons, fic ideas, or just talk about Kent!

Sometimes Jeff worried that he might be Jack Zimmermann 2.0 as far as Kent was concerned. It wasn’t an entirely logical fear, since, as Kent had confirmed for him more than once, he and Jack were very different people. (“For one thing, Swoops, Jack sometimes wouldn’t talk to me for days if he thought I was getting too cozy with another one of our Juniors teammates. Nothing I said could convince him I was only interested in him. It was fucking weird. But you don’t even have a problem with me cuddling with another dude on the plane.”)

The reassurance, Jeff found, was less comforting that Kent had intended, betraying his lack of standards for behavior more than anything else. And there were enough surface-level similarities that his resemblance to Jack nagged at Jeff a little bit. 

Both he and Jack were big, buff dark-haired dudes who loved hockey and history, and both of them had had a thing with Kent, though Jeff was Kent’s actual boyfriend, Jack having scammed himself out of the privilege years ago. And it was a role that he valued to the extent that he’d even developed a decision-making model based on what he knew about Jack to be sure that whenever he was frustrated or fighting with Kent, he was still being fair to him. Asking himself, “How would Jack Zimmermann treat Kent in this situation?” was a big help in convincing himself to do the exact opposite and prevent him from ever acting like too much of a dickhead. It also was very comforting to actually know he was making choices that Jack, as Kent described him, would never so much as consider.

The last thing he wanted, after all, was to end up as Kent’s latest ex-boyfriend who he barely ever wanted to talk about. One who his next boyfriend would learn about in little snippets at odd moments, like shards and fragments he had to collect gradually and then painstakingly reassemble to gain a rough picture of how exactly he had wounded Kent so deeply.

So when their off-season vacation came around, Jeff was exceedingly careful to make sure he was thoughtful in planning their trip to Virginia, even though some people might have called him overly cautious. He desired the location for the history, while Kent was far more interested (or so he claimed) in acquiring a private beach house for a week and then lazing about on the beach.

“All I want to do for vacation is to go somewhere and lie out on the sand,” Kent frequently proclaimed, which was usually met with instant scorn and towels flung at him by his teammates. Kent was notorious for claiming he wanted nothing more than to relax, and then promptly getting bored with said relaxation in a matter of minutes. The one time he’d declined his invitation to the All-Star game and instead vacationed with some of the guys to Costa Rica, he’d annoyed the bejesus out of all of them by waxing poetic about lounging by the ocean with a cocktail in hand, but then trying to corral them all into doing something “more exciting” mere minutes later, when he realized he actually found simply lounging by the ocean with nothing to do far too dull for his taste. 

As Jeff could have predicted, their Virginia vacation ended up being no different, with Jeff amusedly documenting Kent’s progression from just wanting to “relax on the beach” to becoming desperate for any kind of stimulation on the team group chat. But that quickly became unnecessary within the span of two days; forty-eight hours after arriving, Kent himself was spamming the chat with his philosophical contemplations on the nature of hermit crabs. 

_Are hockey players and hermit crabs far too alike for comfort?_ he’d mused beneath a magnificent shot of a tidal pool that he’d snapped. _Forced as a part of their nature to constantly travel, to take up home wherever they might wander? Can we learn from their journeys as they continue to scuttle up and down the beach? Discuss._

While the Aces hadn’t responded with any discussion, just various “Crab Rave” gifs and mentions of their favorite restaurants to order seafood, a couple of guys sent requests to include more pictures of crabs because their kids had enjoyed the first one. Kent was more than obliging, even snagging Jeff to help him out, posing him with hermit crabs lining his palms for one photo and having him build a sandcastle for the crabs during the next.

“Is this all a ploy? All a secret campaign so you can be the first man on the _Sports Illustrated_ swimsuit edition?” Jeff ribbed him as he delicately added crabs to the castle’s turret. 

Kent snorted at him as he pulled Jeff in for a sandcastle selfie. “Please. Not everything is a scheme to get pictures of my scantily clad self plastered across national magazine covers. This is just about me wanting to be nice to my godchildren. Here, smile.” Snagging the photo and then immediately inspecting it, he sent it as soon as it met his approval, eager to share his happiness with whoever would appreciate it.

It was what Kent did best, Jeff observed fondly, watching Kent eagerly tap out a message to his teammates. Listening to and responding to people, finding a way to spread positivity, even in the smallest, most insignificant way. His desire to make both his team feel heard and let them know he recognized and valued them was an invaluable trait in a leader. It was his ability and drive to do so that had earned him the captaincy at the end of his rookie season.

And it was probably what drove Kent crazy about being isolated at the beach, Jeff realized suddenly. Kent was at his best around people. Caring for them, entertaining them, intervening or interceding on their behalf. Maybe it was taking time out of his own schedule to chat for an extra few minutes with fans, even if it meant cutting into his own luxury time. Maybe it was going to visit their teammates out on injury so they could still know they were a part of the team. But no matter the method, Kent always made a point of prioritizing everyone within or on the periphery of the Aces organization. And Jeff loved him for it. Not many people were as thoroughly _nice_ as Kent was, especially not pro athletes. 

Still, there was a type of caution to Kent’s thoughtfulness, as if it had been learned from painful experience rather than developed organically. It sort of reminded him of a child who’d become savvy to an irate father’s bouts of temper and had wised up enough to know to tiptoe around him when he was already in a bad mood. And while Jeff knew Kent had never actually had a father, he _did_ have an ex-boyfriend in the form of Jack Zimmermann as permanent stain on his past.

Sometimes, Jeff wondered if Kent’s kindness was necessarily a good thing. If it was a symptom of being hurt and having grown so used to it more than it was the actual virtue.

After all, he remembered the times Kent would go to Jack’s university to try to convince him to leave his school’s team to sign with the NHL, offering him a prime spot on the Aces.

He also remembered the look of plain devastation on Kent’s face each time he returned, unsuccessful in his mission. And he remembered how Kent wouldn’t sleep afterwards, and how instead, Jeff would be awakened in the middle of the night by the breeze created as their hotel balcony door slid open and shut. He remembered during those times how he’d haul himself out of bed, ignoring the exhausted ache in his bones, and step out onto the balcony as well to fold Kent into a comforting embrace. 

“He doesn’t deserve you,” he’d tell Kent, his voice rough with sleep but sincere. “You can let him go, Kent. He’s not going to let you save him.”

 _And good riddance,_ or something to that effect, Jeff had thought every time, as he gently steered Kent back to bed and snuggled up beside him. And every time Kent curled up against him, he found himself awash with newfound relief and thinking, _The further he is from you, the less he can make you miserable every time you try to help him._

Jack didn’t recognize Kent’s kindness, but Jeff would. He would never be Jack Zimmermann.

* * *

When the week was through, they left the beach for Richmond to begin the second half of their vacation. And once they were among people again, Jeff couldn’t help but notice Kent’s ease with others manifest in full. Their dinner waitress was obviously inexperienced, confusing their meals with a different table’s at first and then bringing out the wrong type of sauce for their entrees after that. But as Jeff watched Kent ease her tension by joking with her about it (“Hey, it’s all right, Jessica. Now that I’ve grown up a little, I really should be spending less time on the sauce, you know?”), he reached the conclusion that yes, Kent’s kindness was something good, not just a symptom of learned hurt. There was an easygoingness to Kent, a type of patience to him, that made him more generous than other people, to other people. And that couldn’t be anything _but_ good.

It was also probably why he put up with Jeff constantly dragging him out to historical sites throughout the next few days.

“You sure you’re not bored?” Jeff asked him lowly as they strode between the displays of cannons at the Richmond National Battlefield. “I mean, I know this is my thing, but I’m not going to pretend it’s everybody’s. I don’t want this to have to be, like, a school field trip to you or something.”

“It’s fine,” Kent told him, offering him a smile. The summer sun had multiplied and amplified his freckles, and Jeff thought they were an incredibly cute contrast to the blue of his eyes that day. “Besides, do you know the rate of meth labs in my town compared to the national average? The only field trip my school ever went on was to the county prison as part of the Scared Straight program.”

Jeff let out a guffaw of laughter and reached for Kent’s hand, easily catching it in his own. He loved the familiarity of it, the comfort in knowing each callous of Kent’s palm, the roughness of the skin on his fingers. Oftentimes he felt like he could identify Kent in the pitch dark by the feeling of his hands alone.

And there was something that felt oddly, yet not unpleasantly, certain about striding through the historical site with Kent. The reason Jeff enjoyed history was because he admired the dedication of it, the fight to preserve a particular time and era, and he thought it should be appreciated. And now, as he ambled through the exhibits with Kent, he couldn’t help but feel like they were adding their own mark to history, like they were giving some sort of promise that they would always remember this day they’d spent together on the battlefield. A possibility hit Jeff: the next time he reached this era of the Civil War in his latest war autobiography, he’d immediately be filled with memories of their time together out on these sun-dappled fields, of Kent’s easy smile, of the weird fucking tan line Kent always got on his forehead thanks to his ubiquitous snapback. 

He really liked the idea. 

Kent noticed his gaze and jostled his shoulder teasingly. “What are you smiling about?”

“I’m not smiling, I’m grieving,” Jeff replied, hooking an arm around Kent’s shoulders despite the swampy humidity. He smirked down at him. “I’m devastated that all of us are going to lose our daily dose of deep thoughts on hermit crabs, but I’m trying to put on a brave face.” 

“Hmph. Looks like you’ll have to come up with some deep thoughts on the human condition and the nature of war as a replacement,” Kent remarked.

Jeff snorted. “Somehow, I don’t think that’s going to be as much of a hit with our teammates’ kids.”

Even with his hopes of remembering their trip for a long time afterward, Jeff was very conscious that the endless stream of historical sights could wear out even the staunchest of Civil War buffs. So he was sure to devote an afternoon to an activity that Kent would enjoy, surprising him by bringing him to the Maymont estate to see their animal exhibits. Given Kent’s enthusiasm for anything cuddly, he’d guessed that Kent’s favorite area would be the Maymont Farm, which allowed guests to feed and touch most of the animals. He was amused but delighted at how accurate his prediction turned out to be, and could only watch, grinning, as Kent gently lifted up a fat rabbit from its pen to hold it close.

“Isn’t he adorable?” Kent asked happily, stroking one of the rabbit’s long, floppy ears. “And his fur is so soft, too.”

“Don’t tell me Kit’s about to lose her top spot as your favorite critter to cuddle,” Jeff ribbed him, snapping a few candid photos of Kent hugging the rabbit. 

Kent huffed at him for that. “Of course she isn’t. Kit is queen, and I’m just her loyal subject. But this bunny is just so cute. Here, you hold him.”

Tucking his phone away in his pocket, Jeff accepted the rabbit, amazed by both how large and docile it was, contentedly accepting being handed on from one stranger to another. It was also totally unlike Kit, he noticed, who would have yowled and clawed desperately at the unfortunate other person who Kent tried to pass her along to. 

Almost the instant he accepted the rabbit, nuzzling it slightly (Kent was right, its fur _was_ soft), a couple of kids bounded up, the two of them maybe six or seven years old. They gazed at Jeff holding the rabbit with awe and wasted no time in approaching him.

“Can we play with the bunny, too?” the little boy asked, pointing at the rabbit eagerly.

“We promise not to drop him,” the little girl offered solemnly, her eyes wide with sincerity.

Unable to stifle a smile, Jeff looked over at Kent to see his reaction, knowing he’d want to be the one to answer. Saying that Kent was a natural with kids would be a blatant lie—Kent had been uneasy around his teammates’ children during his entire rookie season, terrified that he’d prove a bad influence in one way or another. But now, after years of practice through interacting with young fans and taking on all of the Aces’ kids as surrogate nieces and nephews, he was readily confident.

Now, Kent smiled at both children, kneeling down to be at their level so he could speak with them.

“Of course you can play with the rabbit,” he told them kindly. “But you have to be gentle with him, okay? Rabbits are gentle animals, so you need to be gentle right back.”

“Okay!” the girl agreed instantly.

“We’ll do that!” the boy vowed, nodding seriously.

Kent gestured to Jeff, and he knelt as well, extending the rabbit to the kids while making sure that its body was still supported by his hold. Once he did, Kent reached out to delicately stroke the rabbit’s head, demonstrating the method to both of the children.

“This is what you have to do,” he instructed. “Just be calm and careful so that you don’t scare him. That’s probably the best way to approach all of these animals, actually,” he added, glancing at the nearby goat and donkey pens. “Here, why don’t you both try?”

With a quick look at Kent for his approval, both children cautiously spread out a hand to run their palms over the rabbit’s fur with a feather-light touch. Watching the two of them heed Kent’s advice, Jeff smiled proudly and exchanged an amused glance with Kent. He never got tired of watching Kent work with kids—there was something enchanting about watching him treat them with courtesy and seeing them react in the same way, led by his example. It was one of Kent’s chief qualities as a leader: his approach to others, even when casual, also included a distinct respect, and it was a huge factor in motivating others to respond in kind. 

The kids clearly took Kent’s instructions to heart, wasting no time in scolding each other when they thought the other was ignoring what he’d said.

“Brett, he said be gentle!” The little girl reprimanded her brother when she deemed his treatment of the rabbit too rough. “You’ll scare the bunny!”

 _“You’ll_ scare him if you keep yelling like that!” her brother retorted, but nevertheless, he seemed to reconsider, reducing his touch until only the tips of his fingers were brushing along the rabbit’s head.

“Hey, Thing One and Thing Two, that’s enough,” said a burly man who ambled up to join them. He wore cargo pants, a t-shirt for a construction company that exposed the half-sleeve tattoos on each arm, and an apologetic smile that he aimed at Jeff and Kent. “Sorry if they’re bothering you.”

“They’re fine,” Kent told him amiably, looking up at him with a smile in return. “Very well-behaved, actually.”

“First time for everything,” the burly man replied with a chuckle, eliminating any doubt he was their father. 

Jeff chuckled as well, and the burly man took another look at him, recognition appearing on his face. 

“Not to get weird,” he began slowly, “but are you Jeff Troy? The hockey guy?”

Very carefully, Jeff did not look at Kent, knowing that his boyfriend was already struggling to hide a smile, and that if their eyes met, they’d both burst into laughter. This time wasn’t the first that someone had recognized Jeff but not Kent, despite Kent’s far greater fame. He just didn’t look much like a hockey player when he wasn’t in his gear, Jeff supposed, and he frequently got ignored, especially when the Aces were out as a group. 

“That’s me,” Jeff confirmed, a learned smile upturning the corners of his mouth as he automatically switched into PR mode. “If you want, we can totally get a picture.”

“Really? Sweet, man,” the burly guy said with such obvious enthusiasm that Jeff’s smile switched to being genuine. “It’s really an honor. The Caps are my main team, but you Aces are really something else, you know? Here, you can even keep holding that rabbit. And do you mind the kids?” Holding out his phone, the guy turned to Kent. “Would you—”

“It’s my pleasure,” Kent said, his voice surprisingly smooth even though Jeff could tell he was clearly stifling a laugh. “I’m _all_ about hockey guys,” he added, waggling his eyebrows at Jeff before accepting the guy’s phone. “Here, all of you group together.” He waited a moment as the kids shuffled in to join Jeff and their dad before trying to focus the lens. “On the count of three, say ‘Penguins suck’. One, two—”

After the photo was finished and a few obligatory minutes of chitchat about the Aces and their most recent season, the burly man and his children moved along, with him ushering them over to the bobcat habitat while Kent and Jeff proceeded to the goat pen, each purchasing a cup of feed to ingratiate themselves to the animals.

“You gonna be mad if I ask you to take a photo of me and the goats?” Jeff teased. “Do you mind going from being a hockey player to photographer twice in one day?”

Kent scoffed at him, holding up his phone and motioning for Jeff to get into position. “Rumors of my need for public recognition have been greatly exaggerated,” he informed him, snapping several photos of Jeff kneeling down and trying to use his cup of feed to lure goats over to them. “Besides, it’s always a little bit of a relief when people don’t recognize me.”

“Really?” Jeff stared at him, caught off-guard by the admission. Kent was upheld by management and teammates alike as the aspirational example of how to interact with fans, projecting the cocky and collected attitude that helped establish him as a beloved figure of Vegas, but never forgetting that he was expected to remain professional. Yeah, sure, it could get exhausting for all of them to repeatedly stopped on the street for photos and autographs, but he could never remember Kent complaining about it before.

“Yeah.” Kent gave a little shrug that provided him with an excuse so he didn’t have to meet Jeff’s eyes. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s really cool to see how much just seeing me can mean to people. But sometimes it reminds me that—well.” He paused for a moment, and then added more quietly, “Even once in a while, I go back to thinking about Jack. I think it was me having fans and him seeing it that really tanked any chance we had of being . . . anything.” 

The unexpected confession stunned Jeff, less at the actual content and more that Kent was offering it up so freely, without any kind of prompting. Most of their conversations about Jack started with Jeff worriedly attempting to pry information out of his unusually subdued boyfriend, usually immediately following a visit to Samwell University.

Of course, if Kent wanted to talk, Jeff would talk to him. He wasn’t some Jack Zimmermann who sneered at Kent’s attempts to reach out to him and responded by slamming a door, literal or metaphorical, in his face.

Still, he knew he’d have to proceed with caution. Kent’s relationship with Jack remained a delicate subject.

Straightening, he dusted off his jeans and leaned on the fence, moving closer to Kent but not crowding him. “How’s that?” he asked, trying to keep his tone compassionate instead of contemptuous of Jack.

“The first time I ever tried to show up at Jack’s college, I couldn’t find him at his dorm. I couldn’t find the rink, either, but someone pointed me to this frat house where most of the hockey players lived. I showed up to wait there, but some of the guys recognized me, of course. I mean, I was already in my third season and I’d had the Cup once and the Hart and the Lindsay twice each. So by the time Jack got there, he got to see me surrounded by his friends and teammates, some of them wanting to talk to me, and the rest just wanting to gawk at me like I was one of your war monuments. And then this happened every time I went to visit him. Always a crowd who was amazed by me just being there in the first place. I actually still remember a few of his teammates’ majors just from talking to them so much. And I think . . .” 

Kent blew up a long breath, slouching further down on the fence post. “I think that’s what drove home to him the idea that we couldn’t reconnect. Too much had changed for him. I was a widely-known player, and he was stuck on some college team. And once he saw me like that, as a rival he would have to match, he was never going to accept my offer to join the Aces.”

 _Thank Christ,_ Jeff thought to himself, sidling closer so he could rest a hand on Kent’s shoulder. Maybe it was a lame gesture, but he didn’t want to crowd Kent. He just wanted to let him know he wasn’t alone.

“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely. “That things ended that way between you and Jack. You deserved more.” _More than that self-absorbed sad sack of a boyfriend, definitely._

It wasn’t much, because Jeff wasn’t entirely sure what else he could say, but Kent seemed reassured, his face softening and lighting up at the same time, like the sun dawning over the landscape and chasing away any shadows of nighttime. 

“Thanks,” he said with a small smile. “I know it’s our vacation, and I don’t mean to be a downer—”

“You’re not,” Jeff immediately insisted. 

“And today has been a really nice time,” Kent said, scattering a handful of treats amongst the goats and gaining the attention of several, bringing them to wander closer. “Besides, I really am liking all of this historical stuff.”

“Seriously?” Jeff tried not to sound as surprised as he was. The endless educational experiences could get dull sometimes, even for him.

“Seriously,” Kent confirmed. His expression took on a hint of self-deprecation. “Makes up for the awful time I had in Gettysburg. Christ, you know those memories you think about and cringe until your stomach hurts? If I could wipe that one away, I mean . . .” he trailed off, rolling his eyes like he often did when he found something too frustrating to even continue talking about.

Jeff was curious, but also cautious. “What happened in Gettysburg?” he ventured. “I never knew you’d gone.”

Kent dropped his arm from around Jeff’s shoulders, both of his hands going to rest at his hips. The change in his posture might have seemed minute to anyone else, but after playing on the same team as Kent for six years, Jeff instantly recognized it for what it was. A sudden shift to defensive posture from Kent during everyday conversation was a blinking neon sign that a discussion of Jack Zimmermann was drawing nearer.

“It was June of 2009, right before the draft,” Kent said, his voice determinedly casual in the way it always was when he talked about Jack.

Jeff hated that Kent still felt as though he had to use that voice around him, like Jeff was some soulless media mogul about to pounce on Kent and tear him to shreds for some clickbait story.

“As a graduation present for Jack, Alicia and Bob surprised him with a trip to Gettysburg, since he was really into history,” Kent went on. “It was the works—you know, reservations at one of those fancy historical inns, special behind-the-scenes tours at the museums, that kind of stuff. I was still billeting with them, and they invited me along, too.”

“Makes sense,” Jeff agreed mildly, making a distinct effort to keep his tone neutral. 

He’d always been vaguely uncomfortable with Kent’s history with the Zimmermann family. Their current relationship didn’t bother him—he himself had tagged along on a few of Kent’s visits to their family home and had fallen into easy camaraderie with Bad Bob and Alicia. But something about the circumstances of how Kent had become a part of their family left him uneasy, especially knowing that Bad Bob had, in a way, interjected himself into Kent’s life specifically so he could be a part of another star player’s career. Once Bob had witnessed Kent’s phenomenal talent during his final bantam year, he’d plucked him out of his meth-ridden backwater town in upstate New York and whisked him off to his Montreal mansion so Kent could participate in the top major-junior hockey program North America had to offer. 

On the surface, Kent hadn’t been expected to repay the man in any way. But then he’d become tangled up with Jack, his savior’s son, in a relationship that Jeff struggled to find a coincidence. And since said relationship had come close to destroying Kent after Jack tanked his chance at a hockey career while trying to off himself, Jeff always had found it difficult to see Bob’s actions, or even motivations, as solely altruistic. It was a common sentiment among the Aces, and the source of much speculation (which remained purposefully silent when around Kent) that Bob had maybe clued into his son’s difficulties and signs of further problems ahead. And that then he’d brought Kent into his family so he could have an heir and a spare to his hockey legacy.

But Jeff and the other Aces’ suspicions weren’t important now. Kent deserved his full attention, and Jeff pulled himself out of his musings to offer it to him ungrudgingly. He wouldn’t be like Jack Zimmermann, too wrapped up in himself to think of Kent’s own feelings. 

“I wanted—well.” Kent hesitated for a moment and then shrugged. “I wanted to take a ghost tour,” he said, unable to keep the embarrassment out of his voice. “I’d always heard about them and thought that they’d sounded really cool and fun, so I asked Bob and Alicia if they’d be interested in doing one. If no one else was, I was going to pay for my own ticket,” he added hurriedly. “I mean, they were already nice enough to take me on the trip, I wasn’t going to try to take advantage of them.”

“Were they upset with you for it?” Jeff asked, baffled. He could feel his brow knitting together as he tried to comprehend how such a trivial situation could still be bothering Kent today.

Kent hesitated for going on. “No. They were actually really nice about it. Alicia seemed actually pretty into it. But Jack . . .”

“Wasn’t,” Jeff supplied. He almost scowled at the prospect of Jack spoiling Kent’s fun, but only held back because he didn’t want Kent to look over at him and think he was upset with him.

“He was furious,” Kent confided shyly. “He heard what I was talking about and just exploded. Kept ranting about how it was hokey garbage designed to sucker idiot tourists. We ended up screaming at each other about it in front of the Seminary Ridge museum. I just couldn’t see why he didn’t want to have any fun, and he thought I was stupid for wanting to spend money on something that didn’t have ‘a single quantifiable iota of historical value’. We were both furious with each other.”

“And it ruined the trip?” Jeff guessed.

Kent shook his head. “I wouldn’t let it. I mean, it was his graduation present, you know? I apologized and told him he was right, but he . . .” Kent sighed, looking away. “He stayed really passive-aggressive about the whole thing. He kept on making remarks on how he never thought I was that gullible, stuff like that.”

“Dick,” Jeff said contemptuously, not even thinking about it as he spoke. He only realized he verbalized the thought out loud when Kent sent a sharp look his way.

“He was really struggling,” Kent informed him tersely, that same impassioned undercurrent seeping into his voice whenever he defended Jack. “I’m not going to judge him for that.”

 _Then I’ll judge him just fine,_ Jeff thought to himself, but out loud, he only said, “You were a good friend to him, you know.” _Far better than he deserves._

“Not really,” Kent said, casting Jeff a sheepish sideways glance. “I should have read the signs better, you know? I think he thought that me wanting to go on a ghost tour was a rejection of _him,_ in a way. Since he liked history so much, it was probably that me buying into some tourist schlock was like I was saying he and his interests weren’t good enough for me.”

“It was a _ghost tour_ ,” Jeff insisted. “What kind of moron gets all worked up about something like that?”

For a moment, Kent was quiet, and it was long enough for Jeff to look over at him, worried he’d said the wrong thing. But Kent just let out a long exhale, reaching up to fiddle with his snapback, like he often did when he was nervous.

“With Jack, it was never just a ghost tour,” he replied, his voice simultaneously slightly fond and slightly sad, but not enough of either to cover an underlying resignation. “I think he’d just stopped trusting me at that point. That he realized—well.” Kent tried to offer a smile, but it was more brittle than it was bright. “I think he didn’t think of me as his friend or boyfriend by then. Just someone he was competing with for first place.” He swallowed as his voice went tight. “I couldn’t see it then—I thought he was just being moody with everyone. But when I look back . . . it was just me. _I_ was his problem. Anything else was just a smokescreen—either one of his or mine.” He looked determinedly away as he finished, as if ashamed of what he’d revealed. 

At first, Jeff didn’t know how to respond, and he was hyper aware that he probably wore a uselessly astounded expression. He’d always assumed Kent looked back on his time with misguidedly rose-colored glasses, unwilling to condemn Jack even when he should have. But now, knowing the sheer grimness of Kent’s actual perspective and that his memories with Jack and his family were permanently marred by what had come later, Jeff felt foolish for doubting Kent’s point of view.

Struggling for a response but knowing Kent needed reassurance in this moment far more than anything else, he reached out, drawing Kent close and holding him there, tracing his fingertips soothingly along his spine. As Jeff brushed his fingers down Kent’s shoulders to the small of his back, he couldn’t tamp down a swell of satisfaction that he knew every mark or contour on the way down. And fresh pride surged within him as Kent gradually relaxed against him, some of the tension draining from his muscles as he instinctively trusted Jeff’s touch. 

“I’m sorry,” Jeff said at long last, and it didn’t seem like enough, so he squeezed Kent’s shoulders. “You should have been able to go on your ghost tour.” 

It seemed like a pretty damn insufficient thing to say, especially when it followed Kent’s solemn admission, but at least it coaxed a small but genuine smile out of him. 

“Maybe it’s time we just let go of all our ghosts, huh?” Kent asked, gently nudging into Jeff’s side.

They began to move onto the next exhibit, Kent relaxing further against him, burrowing into his side despite the heat. In response, Jeff leaned down to press a kiss to the top of Kent’s head, the easiest place to reach thanks to the near six inches of difference in their heights.

 _No,_ Jeff replied inwardly, _but you’ve given me an idea._

* * *

They arrived back at the hotel with ample time to freshen up for their dinner out, so Kent decided to spend an hour swimming laps in the pool while Jeff ducked out with the excuse of souvenir shopping. After he finished his errand, he stopped at the restaurant where they had dinner reservations for a quick chat with the hostess and to slip her a significant tip in exchange for her help later that evening. Then he hurried back to the hotel to meet Kent.

Forty minutes later, he was back at the restaurant, this time with Kent at his side. The curly-haired hostess led them outside their seats on the scenic vineyard patio, catching Jeff’s eye and winking at him as she handed them their menus.

“What’s this?” Kent asked, his eyebrows rising as he noticed two stubs of paper neatly tucked beneath his napkin.

A thrill of excitement shooting through him, Jeff flashed him a grin. “Why don’t you look and see?”

A disbelieving laugh escaped Kent’s mouth as he picked up the pieces of paper for closer inspection. “Two tickets for tonight’s Haunts of Richmond ghost tour?” He looked over at Jeff, a smile on his face and an impossibly soft look in his eyes. “Jeff . . .” he didn’t finish, instead just swallowing, and reached over to clasp Jeff’s hand, squeezing tightly. “I don’t know what to say,” he whispered almost shyly.

Elation coursing through him at how obviously touched Kent was, Jeff gripped his hand back. “No need to say anything,” he said quietly, letting the excitement on his face speak the loudest. “Just know that I’m looking forward to going with you.”

* * *

The humidity of the South dissipated significantly with the sunset, and a steady breeze rendered the night air almost chilly. Kent reflexively nuzzled closer to Jeff as they started the trek to the Poe Museum where their tour group would gather, and Jeff automatically wrapped an arm around his shoulders. They shared a smile as they passed beneath a streetlight, but Kent needn’t have bothered. Even without looking at his face, Jeff could sense the relaxation radiating from him, the smoothness of his muscles and the lack of strain in his shoulders. In this moment, Kent was simply _happy,_ and Jeff couldn’t help but revel in the knowledge that he’d been the one to provide that to him. 

_I’m nothing like Jack Zimmermann,_ Jeff thought to himself with a proud flare of certainty as fingers made contact with the warmth of Kent’s skin. _I’d never give this up._

**Author's Note:**

> So, this fic was basically an excuse to write several different headcanons, including but not limited to: Jack and Kent having a big argument about Kent wanting to do a ghost tour, Kent being good with kids, Kent getting bored at the beach, and (much as I love giving Kent a family with Bob and Alicia), that other people find Kent's involvement with the Zimmermanns kind of weird.
> 
> If you like any of these ideas, or there's another you want to talk about, here's my [Tumblr](http://maeve-of-winter.tumblr.com/). I love discussion and hearing people's thoughts, so feel free to submit headcanons, fic ideas, or just talk about Kent!


End file.
